That was good. I didn’t want her noticing him. I didn’t want her anywhere near him. The last time she’d been this close to him, she’d Tasered him with the stun gun phone case I’d brought her. We couldn’t do that here, surrounded by fuel. I hit the lock doors button on my key fob.
Zye leaned against my car, watching me pump gas. “You think that’s gonna save her from me if I really wanted to get to her?”
I didn’t answer. He’d burst my bubble with his appearance so thoroughly it had disintegrated into nothingness.
“Where’s Ripley?”
I squeezed the nozzle tighter. “At his home, I would assume.”
Zye clucked his tongue. “See, Pritchard. I went to my dear old mother-in-law’s place—”
“She’s not your mother-in-law. You and Rory were never married.”
He chuckled. “No. You stole that opportunity from me, didn’t you? Made sure you had your clutches tight in her. Did you have to drag her down that aisle? Did you ever wonder if she was thinking about me when she said those I dos?”
I rolled my eyes and leaned in, my voice just as low and deadly as I knew his could get. “No. Not for a second. Because she hated everything about you, Zye. From the tip of your head to the very depth of the black hole that is your soul.”
Something flickered in his gaze, and a part of me roared in victory.
But he covered it quickly. He slapped his hand against the roof of my car. “Norma says Ripley is with her sister in Texas for the summer. Playin’ with his cousins.”
I kept my face schooled in nonchalance. “Lucky kid. Norma’s sister has a big ranch with horses, and her grandkids are Ripley’s age. He’s probably having the time of his life.”
“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second.” Zye looked me up and down, inching in closer, getting up in my face, chest to chest. “I want my son back, Pritchard. I know you have him.”
I shoved him off me. “You don’t know shit, Zye. How about you walk your ass back to your parole officer before I call him and tell him you’re drunk or high or, I dunno, disrupting my fucking peace.”
We were drawing the looks of people around us.
Mae cracked her window and casually as hell called, “I already called the cops. They’ll be here in five. Feel free to hang around to say hi.”
Zye glanced in her direction, a slow smile spreading across his face. But it was me he spoke to. “Ripley’s back in twenty-four hours, or people start getting hurt. Don’t test me, Pritchard. You know exactly what I’m capable of. I took someone you loved once before. I’m not afraid to do it again.”
22
Mae
I was distracted and jumpy for my entire class. Rowe sat at the back of my room, ass on the edge of his seat, his gaze darting to meet mine every few minutes.
How had we gotten to the point where we were safer inside the prison than out of it? I scrubbed a hand over my face and tried to pay attention to what my class was doing. For once, though, they were mostly well-behaved. The interest had died off, and now I was left with the men who really wanted to be here.
I found my gaze wandering to Vincent’s empty seat. Rowe had delivered some work to the psych department for him, but I hated that he couldn’t come to class anymore. Despite the fact he was almost certainly a complete psychopath, who could kill without remorse, I saw the good in him. His desire to learn needed to be nurtured. I had no real idea of his past, but I knew he couldn’t possibly have had the greatest upbringing, and that broke my heart. What if he’d once been a little boy like Ripley who’d just needed someone to take an interest in him?
He was bright. He’d likely finished the stack of papers Rowe had left for him. Determined to show the man that someone gave a shit, despite his crimes, I opened my desk drawer and found a fresh manilla folder and filled it with worksheets. I studied each one carefully, debating whether there were enough instructions that he could understand the work without me being there to teach it. Some I added handwritten notes to with additional explanations I thought he might need.
Rowe wandered down to see what I was doing, side-eyeing the prisoners working at their desks as he went. He watched me write Vincent’s name on the front and frowned at me. “What’s this?”
I passed him over the folder. “More work for Vincent. Can you ask if he can return the last lot I gave him? I want to mark them and write him some notes.”
The corner of Rowe’s mouth flickered. “You care too much.”
I shook my head. “Other people don’t care enough.”
He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “You’re probably right. It’s quiet in here tonight, and your shift is just about done anyway. Want to finish five minutes early and swing past psych to deliver it yourself? They probably won’t let you see him, but you could ask the nurses there how he’s doing.”
I beamed at him. A few weeks ago he would have flat-out refused my request. But he was mellowing and seeing that everything wasn’t always so black and white. No person was all good. No person was all bad.
Except maybe Zye.
He hadn’t shown a redeeming quality yet, but Vincent was different. He might be ruthless, but he cared about me enough to save my life and protect me during the prison riot. The least I could do in return was pass on some photocopied algebra.
I dismissed the men, answered a last question from one as he left the room, and then locked my classroom behind me. We took the same route as the men, but when they turned off to go to Gen Pop, Rowe and I kept walking. We moved past the cafeteria, and I couldn’t help remembering the way Vincent had stabbed another prisoner in the eye the last time I’d been in there. I shuddered at the memory, and though I was still determined to get the work to him, it did remind me that Vincent wasn’t the hero I occasionally let myself think he was.
At the double doors marked Psych Ward, I clutched my folder a little tighter to my chest. Of all the places in the prison, this one scared me the most. The unpredictable nature of the men behind the doors was terrifying. But I reminded myself they weren’t just free to walk around, and that we’d merely be speaking with the nurses or guards on duty.